


how lucky i ever was to see (the way that you smile at me)

by zeitgeistofnow



Series: each night i ask the stars up above / why must I be a teenager in love? [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gender Nonconforming Sokka, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Zuko (Avatar), also emo/jock au! but that's not a tag, because I said so, friendly reminder that punks r inherently anti cop, mentions of mcr and also against me! because i'm gay and sad, this is SO self indulgent it is teeth rotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: sokka smiles lopsidedly into the silence and zuko thinks he could die looking at the other boy and not mind in the least. zuko blinks again and shakes his head. now is not the time to be gay. now is the time to know things about whatever subjects the other boy needs to be tutored on.“i’m sokka,” sokka says.“i know,” zuko says.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: each night i ask the stars up above / why must I be a teenager in love? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812379
Comments: 190
Kudos: 919





	how lucky i ever was to see (the way that you smile at me)

**Author's Note:**

> cw: very brief mention of bullying/harassment directed at a queer teenager and police targeting racial minorities.

Zuko is seventeen and has a  _ severe attitude problem,  _ according to his high school principal. He sits slumped in one of the office chairs, arms crossed over his leather jacket and ripped jean-clad legs crossed over each other. His nails are painted black and he taps them against his knee as his uncle sighs patronizing at Mr. Toll. He would almost feel bad if the man wasn’t such a bootlicker.

“My nephew doesn’t have an attitude problem, you have a problem with power,” he tsks. “Those who aren’t oppressed won’t rebel, Mr. Toll. Your ‘school resource officers’ were threatening another student and Zuko stepped between them.”

“His language was inappropriate and violates the code of conduct inside the school-”

“The way that pig was acting violates just as many  _ actual  _ laws,” Zuko grouses. He doesn’t care about the jock he’d protected- just another nameless face he sees every day- but he’s not the druggie type. Just because he was native doesn’t mean the mint tin of ibuprofen he’d had was nefarious. “I didn’t even do anything to him.” Zuko sinks lower in his chair. He probably would’ve punched the cop, honestly, if the kid he was protecting hadn’t pulled him back. He’s been a lot stronger than Zuko, all solid muscle where Zuko is soft thighs and fluid movements. The other boy’s cotton polyester blend sweatshirt had been a soft weight against his chest. It had felt distressingly nice to be held, even as Zuko was so angry he could scream.

“This is hardly his first offense, however.” Mr. Toll takes a folder out from under his folded hands and spreads it in front of him. Zuko fumes at the way he displays it like a game changer, like he and Uncle Iroh hadn’t been there for a discussion about every single one of those pink slips of paper. “I have almost two dozen detention slips from staff members here about your nephew.” Zuko can just barely see the writing on the most recent two- when he’d cussed out a teacher who’d commented on his scar and when he’d punched a sophomore who’d gotten cheeky about some girl’s bra straps.

“And we’ve had a conversation about every single one of those,” Uncle Iroh says tiredly. “Zuko was provoked in every situation. He may not have successfully deescalated them-”

“It’s not my responsibility to,” Zuko interjects. “I’m the junior in high school here.”

“Maybe if your nephew didn’t make such a target of yourself, he would be here less,” Mr. Toll says, and Zuko’s uncle’s mouth turns down at the corners.

“Mr. Toll,” he says, “My patience is thinning and I left tea on to boil at the shop. Is there anything specific you would like to discuss with us?” Uncle Iroh’s long, silver-gray hair is tied in a low bun and his face is toeing the line between friendly and irritated.

Mr. Toll shuffles through another stack of papers for no reason. “Your nephew needs to participate in our school’s community more. He hardly speaks to anyone when he’s here, and that animosity toward his classmates and lack of friends is obviously the root of his problems.”

Uncle Iroh’s mouth thins and Zuko sputters. “I have friends! What the hell, man.” He  _ does  _ have friends. Well… he has his sister and her lesbian friends, but he hangs out with them. And he has… his own lesbian friends. Like Suki. And he’s friendly with a lot of the kids at school. The ones who aren’t jerks.

“I would recommend he volunteer to tutor a student,” Mr. Toll continues. “We are required by law to have a tutoring program available for our lower income students, but with the football field renovation this year we can’t afford to hire full time tutors. This could be a wonderful way for your nephew to become more connected to his school, to instil a sense of community.”  _ Sounds like a wonderful way to save the school a few thousand dollars, _ Zuko grouses.

“And what if I say no?” He doesn't want to  _ tutor  _ people. He has more important things to do. Like read and be gay. Not that he’s being gay with anyone in particular these days. Just like the general vibing that comes with being queer, and it takes up a solid portion of his free time! He can’t just drop it to explain Macbeth to some sexist meathead in a sportsball jersey. 

“If your nephew were to say no,” Mr. Toll tells Uncle Iroh, “I’m afraid the only thing we can do with someone as… antagonistic as him would be expulsion. Obviously, we would only expel a student as a last resort, especially considering the lack of alternative schools here, but…” He trails off and taps the nib of his pen against Zuko’s file. “Anyhow, I’ll let you two go home for today. The tutoring program starts next Monday and you’d need to stay until five on Mondays and Wednesdays. If that doesn’t work for you, I’m  _ sure  _ Mr. White will be able to find a compromise.”

Zuko scowls. Mr. White hasn’t ever heard of “compromise” in his life and there’s no way he’d shift the tutoring schedule for Zuko’s hours at the Jasmine Dragon. He’ll just pick up some different hours. Probably. He’s still not sold that this is a better alternative than expulsion. 

“Thank you, Mr. Toll.” Uncle Iroh gathers up his hems of the kimono he wears at the shop and strides out of the office. Zuko follows behind him with his hands stuffed petulantly in his jean pockets, twisting one of his rings around his fingers. Mr. Toll watches them from behind his desk and Zuko can feel his gaze on the back of his head. They walk through the nearly empty halls- the few kids that are still there are either used to Zuko and Uncle Iroh emerging from the principal’s office or they stare at the juxtaposition of Zuko’s homemade Hot Topic chic and his uncle’s traditional japanese garb. 

Uncle doesn’t say anything until they get into his old Prius and he ruffles Zuko’s hair. “You need a haircut, nephew.” His hand easily falls down to his CD player and he turns on some old band Zuko only vaguely recognises.

Zuko probably does. Need a trim, that is. His hair is shaggy and he can get all but the strands at the nape of his neck and at the edge of his forehead into a ponytail, which he does. It pokes awkwardly out of the top of his head but a hot guy working at Lush had said it was a cute look. “I like my hair like this,” he says. “I’m going to grow it out.”

Iroh sighs. “Whatever you say. Would you sweep the shop when we get back?”

“Sure.” Zuko hesitates. “Am I going to-”

Iroh sighs again, more heavily. “We’ll have to talk about it, yes. I thought over dinner?”

Zuko stares out the window at the suburban houses passing by. They’re all nearly identical with various neutral colored sidings and white trim. The ones closest to the high school are the nicest, but that’s not where he and his uncle are headed. They’re going home. “Sure. What are we having?”

“This meeting cut into the time I was planning to cook in. I left Azula in charge of the shop to start the rice, but Mr. Toll called before I could do much more than soak it.” Iroh shakes his head. “Do you want to order out?”

“Sure.” Zuko glances back at his uncle, who looks tired. His gray hair is limper than usual and he’s developing wrinkles between his eyebrows just as deep as the smile lines around his mouth. “Where?”

“Whatever you want.” Iroh smiles. “You’re the revolutionary between us, and the revolutionaries get to choose dinner.” He says it like a proverb. “I’m proud of what you did today.”

Zuko preens, but he can’t quite smile back. His uncle might approve of what’s getting Zuko in trouble, but the weekly visits to the school can’t be good for him. Zuko doesn’t want to think that Uncle Iroh’s stress is partly his fault. “Vietnamese? Or pizza. Ty Lee doesn’t want us to get subs without her.” Zuko shrugs. “I fucked up some dudes that were harassing Lana Nguyen so her mom owes me. I could probably get us a discount on a few bowls of pho.”

Iroh taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Great. Order now from your phone, whatever you young people can do with those cell phones of yours. We can pick it up on our way home and Azula will drop a few bags of tea off tomorrow as thanks.” The way home is faster in Uncle Iroh’s car than on the school bus but it’s still hardly a jaunt in the park. If he calls now the Nguyens will have plenty of time to prepare their order.

“Roger that, Uncle.”

It was decided that they can’t afford the only other high school in the city: a catholic private school up the hill that Zuko would rather die than go to, anyway. Uncle Iroh shrugged over his noodles and said that tutoring is Zuko’s only option, so he may as well make the best of it. Azula had laughed and said that Zuko would be the pissiest tutor she’d ever met and Zuko had stolen her dumplings. The idea of tutoring had been irritating but it hadn’t really seemed like something he'd actually have to do. 

Obviously, it was, and now Zuko is sitting at a table in the school library with his chin in his hand, waiting. The guy he’s supposed to be tutoring- Sokka, a name Zuko regards with vague familiarity from daily roll calls and hearing it shouted across the lunchroom- is ten minutes late. The stack of textbooks Mr. White had left him with looms above Zuko’s head and he studiously resists the urge to pull out his earbuds. Mr. White lurks in the office branching from the library and he watches through the glass pane in the door, waiting for Zuko to make a mistake. Well, Zuko’s not going to. He’s going to wait patiently for some idiot that may or may not actually show and he’s not going to make any trouble for his uncle.

It’s another five minutes of dead silence and Zuko’s resolve is weakening. He’s digging through his pockets for his earbuds when a boy rushes through the door, looks desperately around, then collapses into the chair across from Zuko. “Man,” he gasps, “sorry I’m so late. I had…” he looks up at the ceiling and takes a gasping breath. “stuff. You know.”

Zuko blinks. It’s the boy with the ibuprofen, and he looks a hell of a lot better when he’s not restraining Zuko. His hair is cut in an undercut and his sides are just long enough that hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck and above his ears. His face is red-brown from running from wherever he had been and it contrasts nicely with his glacier blue eyes. He smiles lopsidedly into the silence and Zuko thinks he could die looking at the other boy and not mind in the least. Zuko blinks again and shakes his head. Now is not the time to be gay. Now is the time to know things about whatever subjects the other boy needs to be tutored on.

“I’m Sokka,” Sokka says, his flush receding.

“I know,” Zuko says. “I’m tutoring you. Zuko, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” Sokka says, pulling his ponytail out. “You’re the angry kid that screamed at the cop for me. Thanks, by the way. You’re cool but you’re like super not chill.” He holds the ponytail holder in between his teeth as he gathers the long part of his hair between his hands.

Zuko scowls. Okay, so he might be pretty, but he’s obviously never heard of tact. “Thanks.” He sets his chin back into his hand. “So, what do you need help with? What classes are you taking?”

Sokka ties his hair back up with a snap of the hair band and Zuko watches the way his shoulders shift behind his muscle tank. “Industrial tech and basically all the engineering courses our school has to offer. I’m taking classes at the college next year,” Sokka says. “I’m not dumb. I’m good at what I do.”

“Then what are you doing with me?” Zuko asks.

Sokka adjusts the tiny bun on his head and shrugs. “I’m not very good at everything else. I’m failing English and US Gov and I have a D in art class.”

Zuko furrows his brow. “How… art class?”

“We were doing reproductions of paintings we liked and I did my best to redraw Germaine Arnaktauyok’s uhhh… I think it was the _Power of Tunniq._ ” The Inuit names slide off Sokka’s lips just as easily as the word _reproductions_. “One of my dads really likes her work so I thought it could double as a Christmas present. It was like fifty points or something and I got five because Ms. Welsh doesn’t think she’s famous enough because she’s not some old dude from the renaissance. Or whatever. I thought my painting was pretty good.” His mouth turns down at the edges. “Anyway, we never have assignments in that class so it dropped my grade a lot.”

“That’s rough, man.”

“Tell me about it. I really only need help with English and Government though. I’ve got a test on the Poisonwood Bible tomorrow and I forgot to start the audiobook until this morning.” Sokka pulls his backpack onto his lap and digs through it for a paperback copy of the book. “It’s 15 and a half hours so there’s no way I’ll finish it and I hate reading novels.”

Zuko eyes the book. The pages are folded at the edges from being in Sokka’s backpack for who knows how long. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“I know you’ve read it because you’re in my English class and you always know the answers to the questions. Tell me about it?” Sokka rests his face in both hands and sticks out his bottom lip, fluttering his eyelashes up at Zuko. It’s… not cute. At least, it shouldn’t be.

Zuko looks at Mr. White’s office. The man seems to have given up trying to catch Zuko and is playing solitaire on his computer. Zuko sighs. “Yeah, okay. I guess you failing would look bad for me.”

Sokka pumps his fist and beams. “Hell yeah! Okay, first, where’s the Congo? And also who are the main characters. What is Christianity? Are snakes even  _ real _ ?”

Zuko does his best to keep from smiling.

One more day of half-sleeping through his classes and listening to music too loud on the bus home before another afternoon of tutoring on Wednesday. Neither his uncle or his sister say anything about it and Zuko doesn’t mind. He texts them anyway after school, sitting in the library and waiting for Sokka.

**to: uncle iroh and sister 😈**

**i’m tutoring so i can’t help out in the shop today.. i can pick up anything you guys need on the bus home though.**

Zuko has to take the city bus home when he’s tutoring. It’s 75¢ for the ride and Zuko likes it a lot better than the school bus. It’s quieter, even accounting for the dude in the front of the bus who always blasts sexist rap on his stereo. 

**from: sister 😈**

**ha nerdddddd. get some spearmint gum for me im out**

Zuko is typing a response: something along the lines of “fuck you say please” when Sokka bursts through the library doors. He’s wearing a neat button up today with the top three buttons popped so that Zuko can see his collarbones and he looks thrilled about something.

“What’s up?” Zuko asks, dropping his phone on the table. Azula can wait.

“I totally aced my test yesterday,” Sokka says. He sprawls out on the chair with both arms slung over the back and one foot braced against Zuko’s seat. “All thanks to you, man. I knew all the answers.”

If Zuko furrows his brows he can just barely remember the exam. It was relatively easy. Mostly just surface level stuff about the events of the story. The last question had been a long answer question about colonialism. “Good for you,” he says. “That’ll at least bring your grade up to a D, right?” Their English class is something like 80% tests, which Zuko hates. 

Sokka’s grin gets wider. “I did the math. If I get a 95, which… I’m not sure, but I’m hopeful, it’ll be more like a C-.” He holds up his hand for a high five and Zuko indulges him, smiling a little. “Nice,” Zuko says. There’s a slightly awkward pause and Zuko says, “so, what do you need help with?”

Sokka’s smile turns somewhere between sheepish and conniving and he hauls his government book onto the table. It’s about 800 pages but weighs more than jupiter. Zuko’s AP Government book is even thicker. “I was… hoping. That you would read this to me.”

Zuko takes the book and looks at it, then back at Sokka. “The whole thing?” He asks.

“What? No. Just the section about broadcast media versus narrowcast. I usually get Katara to read it to me because the text is  _ tiny  _ and my dyslexia makes it go all…” Sokka makes a noise that sounds like a verbalized keysmash, “but she charges a dollar a page. You’re volunteering to tutor me for some reason so I figured you’d do it for free.”

Zuko eyes the other boy, who stares back. “Please?”

Zuko sighs. He’s usually so  _ good  _ at saying no, but it’s for a good cause. “What page is it?” He asks, flipping through to the chapter on media.

It takes maybe half an hour for Zuko to get through the section. Throughout it Sokka slowly scoots his chair around the table until he’s shoulder to shoulder with the shorter boy. Zuko trips over the sentence  _ “the rise of narrowcast media helped contribute to the polarization of America”  _ when he feels the touch. It’s practically doubling his heart rate and he can feel his ears heating up but he can’t bring himself to pull away. He rushes through the end of the paragraph and closes the book. It makes a soft  _ thump  _ noise as it flops closed and Zuko looks up at Sokka. 

He’s smiling and his eyes are closed. His eyelashes are longer than Zuko would think, dark against his brown skin. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

Zuko’s flush spreads from his ears across his face and he stares down at the textbook. “It’s nothing.”

“Whatever,” Sokka says, eyes fluttering open to look bemusedly at Zuko. “Hey, you should give me your snapchat.”

Zuko blusters. “I- what? I don’t even know if I have snapchat.”

Sokka pulls out his phone. It’s android, just like Zuko’s, and has a heavy duty black case on it. Zuko’s is cracked at the very top of the screen and his case has a frog on the back. Azula bought it for him a few birthdays ago and it hasn’t broken yet so he can’t bear to throw it away. “Well, check! Sheesh.”

Zuko does have a snapchat, it turns out, and the app is still downloaded on his phone. “Uh… firezuko21,” he reads. He doesn’t remember ever making that his username.

Sokka nods and types something into his phone and a second later a friend request pops up on Zuko’s phone. From boomerangotters. “Great, bro. Now we’re friends!” He holds his hand up for another high five and Zuko’s blush returns with a vengeance. 

“Yeah,” he repeats, “friends.”

Azula ate all the  _ fucking  _ bread, even though she insists that Ty Lee gave it all to the birds. It doesn’t even matter which one of them used it all up because the end result is Zuko having to leave his house in black basketball shorts and a MCR tank top he found in the bottom of his closet. He shuffles into his converse and opens the back door so that he doesn’t have to walk through the seating area of the Jasmine Dragon. 

“Cub Foods is closed!” Iroh calls from the shop. “Super One is a bit more of a walk, but it’s open.” The shop’s been more busy than normal. It's a good thing, but it means that Uncle Iroh ends each day more exhausted than the last. Zuko feels bad that things like tutoring and buying more  _ fucking  _ bread have been getting in the way of him helping out, but Uncle Iroh insists that it’s okay.

Zuko grumbles. Azula waves a sheet of note paper at him over the counter. “Zuzu!” she says, “I have a grocery list. We’re out of a lot of other stuff too.”

Zuko scowls and finishes tying his shoes. “Why don’t you go?”

Azula shrugs. “I haven’t showered since Friday and all my pants are dirty.” She’s wearing a sweatshirt for some riot grrrl band that hasn’t made music since the 90s and “women’s boxer shorts”. Her socks come up to her knees. 

“I don’t have any clean pants either.” Zuko takes the list anyway and rummages through his uncle’s bag for fifty dollars- how much their groceries usually cost. He finds three ten dollar bills, a ball of lint, and some coupons for Cub. “You’ll do laundry?”

“No.” Azula snaps her gum.

Zuko sighs.

“Fuck you, I’m too pretty for chores,” Azula adds. “See ya.”

Super One is a mile from the Jasmine Dragon, half a mile further away than Cub. Zuko listens to Rise Against too loudly on his bike ride there and he floats through the steps of chaining up his bike and finding the stuff on his list in the half-daze he always gets in when he listens to music. The aisles are brighter than the ones at Cub and the ceilings are higher, but otherwise it’s almost exactly the same. He gets one of those baskets that you hold on your arm and drops ramen packets, Lay’s barbeque chips, 2% milk, a loaf of white bread, cheddar cheese, and some more cabbage into it before heading to the checkout. He gets halfway through laying his purchases out on the conveyor belt before he looks up and there’s Sokka, grinning at him. 

He’s wearing a sweatshirt under his work apron and he looks warm in it, like if Zuko pressed up against him he would feel safe. Zuko self-consciously adjusts his septum ring, as if that will make any of his pajama-esque outfit better. 

Not that that’s a reasonable thought to be having. Zuko clears his throat and holds a hand up in greeting. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” Sokka replies. “I was wondering when you’d notice it was me,” he teases, and Zuko blushes. Goddamn, he doesn’t usually blush this much. He didn’t blush when the hot guy at Lush complimented his hair, so why does he blush at every single thing Sokka says. 

“I don’t usually shop here,” he says. “And I’m not very observant.”

“I can tell.” He swipes the barcode of Zuko’s carton of milk and leans against the counter. “So, you never snapped me.”

“You never snapped me!” Zuko protests. He’d waited for a notification for an embarrassingly long time before giving up. Azula had teased him about it mercilessly. “I thought you just didn’t want to talk to me.”

“C’mon, man.” Sokka shakes his head and types in the code for cabbage. “I was the one who friended you. I thought  _ you  _ didn’t want to talk to me.”

Zuko grips his forearm and stares at the floor. “Well, I did.”

There’s a silence and Zuko looks back up at the other boy, who’s beaming over at him. “That’s great, dude. We  _ gotta  _ catch up on that friend time we missed out on, though. My shift is over in like…” He checks his phone, “ten minutes? If you wait in the dining area we can go play hacky sack.”

Zuko mumbles an affirmation and takes the plastic bag of his groceries that Sokka offers. He wanders over to the dining area. It looks a little bit like the Jasmine Dragon, if the Jasmine Dragon was all fake wood and booths. So really, it doesn’t look like the Jasmine Dragon at all. Zuko collapses into one of the booths and rests his head in his hands. This was a terrible idea. He can’t play whatever the  _ fuck  _ hacky sack is _.  _ He can’t  _ catch a ball.  _ He hasn’t even come near one since he finished his gym requirements freshman year. And Sokka is on the varsity football team. He’s probably good at this shit and Zuko’s going to look so dumb. 

Zuko sits up and drags his hands down his face. He  _ is  _ so dumb. He’s so dumb, and now Sokka is going to know. 

He’s still berating himself when Sokka ambles over. He’s apron-less now and Zuko can see that his sweatshirt is for a sports team he’s never heard of. A small crocheted ball is nestled in his hand.

“Zuko!” he chimes, “you waited for me!”

“Of course I did,” Zuko says. He furrows his brow. “I’m not an asshole.”

Sokka offers him a hand and Zuko hauls himself out of the booth. “I- yeah, of course not.” He rubs the back of his neck and Zuko is struck by how much he wants to run his fingers through the short hair on the sides of Sokka’s head. “Anyway, the park is about a block away. It’s honestly really nice for being right by a grocery store.”

Zuko saw it on his bike ride over. A huge field with a baseball diamond at one corner and two benches at another. The grass was a little taller than it was probably meant to be but he likes the feeling of grass tickling at his ankles so he doesn’t mind. Plus, lawns suck. “Cool.”

They walk side by side, Sokka’s elbows bumping Zuko’s.  _ Is this what friendship is? _ Zuko thinks.  _ It’s kinda nice.  _ Because it’s not like he doesn’t have friends, but he doesn’t have friends that he does this sort of thing with. He has friends that he sits with at lunch, and he has friends that he chats with when they order from him at the shop, and he has his sister and Mia and Ty Lee, who aren’t really  _ his  _ friends, but he doesn’t have the sort of friend who he’d meet after work to play whatever hacky sack is with in a nearby park. Unless he does now. He looks up at Sokka, who’s humming a pop song under his breath.

Zuko makes an inquisitive noise and Sokka bounces the hacky sack on his palm. It doesn’t bounce well, just flops onto his hand, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from trying. “I always have those earworm pop songs stuck in my head after work,” he says. “I think it should be classified as an unsafe workplace.”

“You guys should unionize,” Zuko jokes.

Sokka stares blankly at him for a moment, then tosses the ball into the air and laughs. “We should, shouldn’t we. I know what a union is.”

“Uh-hu,” Zuko teases. “I bet you do.”

“ _ Obviously,”  _ Sokka agrees. “Where do you think I got my F in government? My knowledge of unions and all those other things.” There’s a comfortable pause. “By the way,” Sokka says, “You look- I like your outfit.”

Zuko looks awful. He knows he does, but Sokka sounds sincere. Zuko’s not used to being complimented, especially when he didn’t go out of his way to look good, and he trips over his response. “Uh,” he says, “thanks.” Sokka looks away and brings one hand up to toy with his earring- a glass diamond stud in his left ear.

“No problem,” he says. “You always look cool. I wish I could dress like you do.” Sokka’s gaze stays fixed on a tree across the road and Zuko is  _ so confused.  _ Is this how straight guys act when they’re not around people like Zuko?

“I-” Zuko coughs. “I like how you dress too. You always look… soft.” Zuko silently curses at himself.  _ You couldn’t have made that compliment less heterosexual if you  _ tried.  _ Jesus Christ.  _

Sokka looks back at Zuko and smiles. Zuko blinks back. “Thanks, man.” He spins on his heel and walks backwards into the field, tossing the hacky sack and then running to catch it. “Come on!” He calls.

Zuko takes a deep breath and runs over to Sokka. He stands awkwardly between the dandelions and clover and watches the other boy bounce the hacky sack from his head to his knee to his elbow. He becomes a tangle of long limbs and artful movements, just as hypnotizing as a campfire. The hacky sack flies away after a couple more seconds and Sokka curses loudly into the sky. He starts to rummage through the grass for it. Zuko sits down. Sokka pops back up a moment later.

“What- hey, Zuko, why are you sitting down? Aren’t you going to play with me?” He looks heartbreakingly sad and Zuko  _ knows  _ it’s affected. He knows it’s an act. He stands up anyway.

“I don’t know how to play,” he says, and Sokka grins.

“I’ll teach you then! It’s really simple. Basically keep the sack in the air and don’t touch it with your hands.” Sokka demonstrates, then kicks the hacky sack at Zuko. Zuko panics and bats it away with the back of his hand. It careens back toward Sokka, who picks it up off the ground and gives Zuko an encouraging smile that warms him to his core. Still, even accounting for smiles from Sokka, he doesn’t enjoy this.

“Good try,” he says, and throws it at Zuko again. This time Zuko catches it and holds it up in the air.  _ Ha,  _ he thinks,  _ try to make me do physical activity without this! _

Sokka blinks, then barrels toward the other boy. He crashes right into Zuko and wraps both arms around his back. Zuko can feel Sokka’s hands on the places where he cut holes into the back of the tank and his breath against Zuko’s neck. There’s a split second where both boys take the time to get adjusted to their new closeness, then Sokka grabs for the hacky sack and Zuko half-shrieks, holding onto it tightly. They tussle for a moment, one of Sokka’s hands grasping at the fabric of Zuko’s tank top and the other trying to pry his fingers off the ball. 

Then Zuko slips, or maybe Sokka does, and they both topple to the ground. Sokka’s arms fly out and he sort of catches them both, lessening the impact and cushioning Zuko’s head. He’s still going to have bruises.

Sokka laughs slightly, still lying on top of Zuko. “Ha, sorry about that,” he starts, then seems to realize exactly the position he is in and cuts himself off.

Zuko has  _ never  _ blushed this hard. He feels like his face is going to burn off if Sokka doesn’t stop insisting on eye contact. His eyes are very blue and he has three moles underneath his left eye and he is  _ on top of Zuko,  _ arms braced on either side of Zuko’s head. Zuko’s arms lie, useless, on the ground. He’s still holding the hacky sack.

“I-” Sokka starts, and the noise is enough to snap Zuko out of it. He squirms out from below Sokka and stands up. 

“I need to go,” he says urgently, and tosses the hacky sack to the ground. It makes a pathetic noise when it hits the dirt and the magenta, gold, and aqua stripes on it are stark against the green grass. 

It’s only another minute or two before he’s on his bike with his headphones in, grocery bag hooked over his arm. The music is almost loud enough for him to forget the way Zuko’s breath had hitched when he’d met Sokka’s eyes, the way he’d felt like he was drowning in them. 

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[sokka with the puppy filter lying on the couch. his hair is down and still damp from the shower and, as far as zuko can tell, he’s not wearing a shirt.]**

**zuko!! buddy! my man!!!!**

**snapchat to: boomerangotters**

**[zuko, hair up in a stolen scrunchie. he is leaning against his wall, which is coated in posters for bands no one he’s friends with has ever heard of. he’s blushing slightly, which is** **_highly_ ** **distressing. maybe sokka just thinks his face is naturally this red.]**

**what’s up?**

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[sokka, still with the puppy filter. he makes a peace sign at the camera and sticks out his tongue.]**

**you should come to the football game tomorrow. also i can’t make it to our tutoring session. because i have the game. but that means you won’t be busy! you should come to it :3**

**snapchat to: boomerangotters**

**[zuko again. a few more strands of hair have escaped from his scrunchie since his last snap, but he’s managed to get his blush to dissipate a little.]**

**it’s just at the field? i’ll come if i can get azula to help uncle with the shop.**

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[sokka beams at the camera.]**

**hell yeah man!!!! i hope whoever azula is feels charitable**

Azula does  _ not  _ feel charitable, but Uncle Iroh seems thrilled that Zuko is making new friends. He tuts when Azula refuses.

“Azula, your older brother has made a great many sacrifices for you. I’m sure you can do this for him just this much,” he says, reaching over her for the green beans.

“He wasn’t even going to work the shop,” Azula grouses, stabbing at her mashed potatoes. “he was going to have to tutor. I wasn’t going to have to work either.”

Zuko ducks his head. “Perhaps I should stay anyway, uncle. This game is hardly as important as you getting to take a break, I could-”

Uncle Iroh tuts again, this time at Zuko. “Nephew, you must stop putting me in front of yourself! You are a teenager and you are making a friend. You  _ will  _ go to his football game.” He pours some green beans into his place and spears one. “This conversation is finished.”

Azula pouts for a moment, but Uncle asks a prodding question about her newest art project, which seems to involve… burning large objects… and she jumps at the chance to tell them about it.

The football game is fascinating in the boringest way Zuko can conceive. He sits at the very back of the bleachers and tugs his trench coat closer around his shoulders as a faint mist descends onto the crowd. It’s just barely dark- the game didn’t start right after school, but at 7:30 at night, and Zuko quietly bemoans the wasted time. He spent it listening to music on the retaining wall, the one no one goes by unless they’re doing something they shouldn’t. The exception being Zuko, who sits there whenever he has time to kill. Sure, sometimes he walks in on people making out, but he usually just resolutely sits where he usually does and they eventually get uncomfortable and leave. 

Sometimes he catches Sokka among the other football players. He’s one of three who aren’t white, which should make him stand out more than it does, but the sun set an hour ago, the floodlights illuminating the field bleaching the color out of everything, and every single person on the field is wearing more gear than an astronaut. 

The ball and the group of boys chasing it go back and forth, up and down the field, and the ref calls out things that are meaningless to Zuko. He’s listening to music in one ear- his playlist of rock ballads, music that makes the tiny droplets of mist falling on his face seem more idyllic than annoying. Sometimes the guitars are overpowered by the roar of the crowd at seemingly meaningless times, but Zuko doesn’t mind. He thinks they’re generally cheering for Sokka, which is good. He half-heartedly cheers along but it feels a bit empty when he doesn’t know why he’s cheering. 

The game ends at half-past ten. It’s dramatically earlier than Zuko usually stays up, but the rhythmic roaring of the crowd made him tired and he has to lean against the pole of the bus stop sign while he waits for the 11:00 bus. He missed 10:30 one by three minutes, and he feels his eyelids flutter closed as he thinks about the half hour wait. 

He doesn’t even flinch at a honk from a passing car, and just squints his eyes a little tighter closed when he hears insults being flung at him. The home team won, which is good, because that means Sokka won. It also means that the people who know Zuko are hyped up and ready to yell slurs from the back of a truck. He doesn’t mind- he knew it was going to happen, and supporting Sokka was more important than avoiding any harassment. 

Another song plays by before there’s another noise other than crickets and passing cars. Another honk, and Zuko tenses.

“Hey, man,” Sokka’s voice calls.

Zuko’s eyes flutter open to see Sokka in the front seat of a silver Prius, arm resting on the open window. His hair is wet from a post-game shower and he looks high on adrenaline. Beautiful in the harsh shadows cast from the overhead streetlight. “Hey,” Zuko says.

“You’re not taking the bus home, are you?”

Zuko looks up at the bus stop sign and fingers the three quarters in his jean pocket. “Yeah, I am,” he says.

Sokka’s brow furrows and Zuko, sleepily, thinks that he’d like to smooth it out with his thumb. “That’s not safe. You could get mugged. Or…” he trails off, looking concerned. “raped, or harassed or something.”  _ Ah,  _ Zuko thinks, so he knows I’m trans. “A lot of my teammates take the bus home, and they’ve all been drinking. They’re not people you want around you, dude.” The hand resting on the window balls into a fist and Zuko relents.

“Well, how else am I gonna get home?”

“I’ll drive you home,” Sokka offers. “I have to drop Aang and Suki, anyway.” He gestures to the passenger seat and Zuko straightens, a little unsteadily, and walks over. Sokka’s car smells like Axe body spray and air freshener. It’s a distinctly chemical mix of smells, and it’s a little bit odd because Sokka  _ doesn’t  _ smell like Axe. He smells like the air before a storm, like blankets on a cold day. 

There are three people in the back seat- Suki, who Zuko knows and likes, and two kids who can’t be past middle school.

“So  _ you’re  _ Sokka’s Zuko!” Suki says, and flicks Zuko’s shoulder. Her leather jacket is almost coated in enamel pins and buttons for protests that Zuko barely heard about. “I knew it was you. I kept telling Sokka we were friends.”

Zuko casts an amused glance at Sokka. “How many other Zuko’s do you know?”

Sokka gestures vaguely with the hand not holding the steering wheel. “I don’t know! I just thought she was making it up.”

“Baby,” Suki says, shaking her head, “I don’t lie.”

“Ha ha ha,” Sokka says, then snorts.

The two middle schoolers are leaning against each other- the boy with his head tucked on the girl’s shoulder and his eyes lightly closed. The girl looks like she’s related to Sokka. “How do you know Suki?” she asks Zuko. He eyes the two girls.

“We had the same kung fu instructor,” he says simply.

“He bought me my first enamel pin,” Suki recounts. “And our friendship was forged.”

Zuko wouldn’t call it a friendship. He would call it lesbian/gay solidarity with a healthy dose or terror. They sometimes sit on the retaining wall together, playing whatever songs each of them are obsessed with that week. Suki smokes and shares her blunt with Zuko when he’s having a bad day. He’s not sure he should explain that to the middle schooler in front of him, though. “Basically,” he agrees.

Suki leans forward and across the car toward Zuko. She’s wearing more makeup than normal, and her eyeliner is smudged at the tips of its wings. “Sokka doesn’t shut up about you, Zuko,” she says. When Zuko glances at Sokka the other boy is studiously watching the road.

“Is that so,” Zuko says, and hates when his voice wobbles. He’s just tired, he reassures himself.

“ _ Oh  _ yeah,” she affirms, “it’s really dumb. I think that you two should just-”

“Okay, Suki,” Sokka interrupts, his voice rising a few decibels higher than normal, “we’re at your house. Do you need a ride tomorrow?”

“Nah,” Suki says, opening the door. “I’ll bike. I need the exercise.” All three awake residents of Sukka’s car watch her walk up to her house. Once she disappears past the doorway Sokka’s little sister closes her eyes and joins her friend wherever children go when they sleep.

“Where are we headed?” Sokka asks.

“You can just put the Jasmine Dragon into google maps,” Zuko says through a yawn. “We live above it.”

Sokka takes a moment to fiddle with his phone before making a face and setting it down. “I don’t like using the directions ‘cuz it makes me feel like my dad. Can you just tell me when to turn?”

Zuko vaguely knows where they are, so he nods. Sokka starts the car. He doesn’t listen to music while he drives, Zuko notes. He can’t imagine that. He doesn’t have his license, but if he did he’d never go anywhere without some kind of audio. 

He hums to himself under his breath for a few blocks before he realizes that the silence is making him anxious. “Can I turn on some music?” he asks. “Turn right here, by the way.”

Sokka turns on Maple St. They’re still five miles from the Jasmine Dragon. “Wha- yeah, sure. I don’t usually listen to anything when I drive. Music’s not really my thing.”

“I love music,” Zuko says honestly, scrolling through his phone for the right song. He settles back on the ballads playlist he was listening to during the game. The steady beat of drums fills the car and Sokka taps the steering wheel along with it. Zuko drops his phone in the cupholder between them because the shape amplifies the sound.

“I love that you love music,” Sokka says, his eyes locked on the road in front of him. The mist has turned into a drizzle and the car’s windshield wipers go back and forth across the glass, wiping away an endless stream of water. Zuko stares ahead too. They make idle conversation for the next fifteen minutes until Sokka pulls up in front of the shop and hands Zuko his phone. He gazes up at the building. “You live here?”

Zuko turns his phone around in his hands. “Yeah,” he says. “My uncle owns the shop.”

“No way, man, me and Katara are like… five blocks from here.” Sokka’s eyes come to rest on the blinking  _ Closed  _ sign in the window. “We should totally do our tutoring sessions here instead.”

Zuko smiles sleepily at the other boy. “That sounds great,” he says, and gets out of the car. He stands in front of the shop doors and waves to Sokka as the other boy drives away. He doesn’t even mind that his clothes get soaked.

It’s another few weeks of tutoring with the same routine. Sokka picks Zuko up in his Prius every Monday and Wednesday, his little sister and the other kid tucked into the back- Katara and Aang, Zuko learns. Katara always has her homework spread out on the fabric seats beside her and Aang always has a different fidget toy. The pair regails the older boys with tales from their days as they drive, and Zuko has to physically stop himself from grinding his teeth at the mention of middle school. 

Sokka drops them off at a home, then he and Zuko drive to the Jasmine Dragon. The second drive Sokka persuaded Zuko to figure out how to connect his phone to the car’s bluetooth and now the music he plays comes out of the car’s speakers. He plays a medley of songs and watches Sokka out of the corner of his eyes, trying to figure out what the other boy likes. Paramore, he settles on, and MCR. Pop punk, which Zuko can respect. It’s a five minute drive from Sokka’s house to the shop and Sokka parks in the tiny parking lot and swaggers into the shop, Zuko a few steps behind him.

He always feels  _ overwhelmingly  _ guilty about being in the shop and not helping out his uncle, but Uncle Iroh always gently chastises him when he leaves Sokka to pick up mugs left by customers. Zuko reads whatever government chapters Sokka needs read, he goes over English notes, he has long twisting conversations about whatever Sokka’s thinking about that day. When Sokka gets irritated with a concept he can’t get Zuko flags his uncle down to play Pai Sho with him while Zuko steeps tea and wipes down tables. They repeat this for a few hours and Sokka leaves somewhere between 5:30 and when the shop closes, ducking out of the shop door with a joking salute to Uncle Iroh and a grin at Zuko.

Sokka’s grades improve gradually and, Zuko admits, so does Zuko’s mood. It’s a routine that works for both of them, and Zuko thinks he’s making a friend. 

“Okay, name three corners of an iron triangle.” Zuko leans back against the back of the chair he’s sitting at. Sokka’s customary scoot around the round table was completed hours ago, and his thigh is a steady weight against Zuko’s own leg. The  _ shop  _ closed hours ago, and the only light they’re working with is a table lamp Zuko dragged up from the basement. It’s green with a red shade and it sits in the middle of the table, casting a warm light down onto the pair. Staying this late is unprecedented, but Sokka never left and Zuko certainly wasn’t going to kick him out.

Sokka sinks down to press his cheek against the tabletop. “Uh… military, congress, private corporations.”

“Okay, another.” Zuko checks his phone: 1:43 in the morning. There’s no way he’s letting Sokka drive home this late. God, when did it even get past midnight?

“Interest groups, congress, and…” Sokka props his head on his arm and screws up his face, thinking. “The president.”

“Bureaucracy,” Zuko corrects. He stifles a yawn. “I think you’re prepared enough, Sokka. We can find some Quizlet flashcards if you need more.”

Sokka groans. “I don’t  _ feel  _ prepared.”

“Well, this isn’t helping anything.” Zuko stands and stretches. “You told your dads you’re staying the night? Uncle’s going to kill me if someone worries about you.”

Sokka slips out of the chair and tosses his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, I told them I’d be home late, but,” his eyes sharpen, “wait. Stay the night?”

“Uh, yeah.” Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight and reaches over to turn off the lamp. It makes a clicking noise as it turns off. “You’re not driving this late. You can borrow some of my clothes for school tomorrow.” Zuko sighs internally as soon as he suggests it. Sokka wears clothes that are distinctly different than Zuko, and there’s definitely a possibility that Zuko’s sweatshirts wouldn’t even fit the other boy. 

“I’m  _ five minutes away _ ,” Sokka protests, but he lets Zuko usher him up to Zuko’s bedroom. The pair only trips a little bit on the building’s steep stairs and Sokka chuckles when Zuko elbows him. They take light steps down the hallway to Zuko’s door, careful not to step on the creaking parts. Zuko studiously doesn’t watch Sokka’s wide eyes taking in the apartment. He never really noticed how many pictures of him and his little sister Uncle Iroh has up, but most of them are embarrassing. 

His bedroom is the size of a walk-in closet, with his bed on a few wood pallets in the corner, a dresser against the same wall, and an even smaller closet next to the door. His stereo is on the floor and won’t play any CDs longer than fifty minutes. Zuko usually doesn’t even bother with it. It’s clunky and old and he loves it because Uncle Iroh bought it for him, but he has a bluetooth speaker from Target that works better. 

Zuko flops down on the carpeted floor and stretches his arms up at the ceiling. Sokka stands in the doorway for a minute, gazing around at Zuko’s walls. Zuko’s walls are a pride of his, papered with posters and feminist magazine cut outs and letters he writes to himself and everything else he thinks looks cool. He preens a little bit at how impressed Sokka seems by them.

“Close the door,” he says, “you’re letting in a draft.”

Sokka looks over his shoulder at the hallway and says, “it’s the same exact temperature, but okay.” He carefully closes the door behind him and folds himself down to lie next to Zuko. 

Zuko holds his phone up above him and adds a few songs to the queue. He’s not really sure what he wants to listen to and even less sure what Sokka wants to listen to so he puts on a few different songs. It’s a few seconds before he remembers to press play. There’s bassline and then Laura Jane Grace sings,  _ If I could have chosen where God would hide his heaven / I'd wish for it to be the salt and swell of the ocean _ and Zuko feels all the tension leave his body. 

They listen to about half the song in silence and Zuko’s eyes drift closed. He loves this song, even though the ocean has never had much appeal to him.  _ It’s about the yearning _ , Suki had pointed out when he’s shown her the song,  _ you’re gay and trans. Of course this song is going to fuck you up. _

Finally, Sokka rolls over to look at Zuko and Zuko does the same. “I didn’t think you listened to music like this.”

“What,” Zuko says, “do you mean?”

“Like…” Sokka trails off. “It’s beautiful, you know? The lyrics…” he bites his lip, obviously looking for the rights words. Zuko braces himself to be mildly offended. “It makes me like, feel stuff. Here.” He gestures vaguely at his abdomen. “Music never does that.”

“You’re either not listening to the right music or you’re not listening to music at the right time.” Late late at night is the best time to listen to things, Zuko thinks. The darkness of the night outside always contrasts nicely with music, the music making the night a bit less monotonous and the night making the sounds more wistful. “I love music,” he says, flipping over onto his stomach and resting his chin on his arms. It’s redundant, he knows, and he’s already told Sokka, but it feels like something he needs to stress.

“I love that you love music,” Sokka says softly. 

He stares into Zuko’s eyes, oddly sombre.  _ The sun would kiss our skin as we played in the sand and water / and we would know we loved each other without having to say it _ , Laura Jane Grace half-screams, and there’s a moment where Zuko thinks- hopes, beyond any reasonable evidence- that Sokka’s hands are going to come up to his cup his jawbone, that he’s going to cross the few inches between them. The moment passes, though, and as the last few measures of the song pass Sokka says, “I dunno, I thought you just listened to My Chemical Romance and all those other Hot Topic bands.”

Zuko just rolls his eyes and doesn’t protest that those bands have merch in Hot Topic because their music is good. “I  _ do  _ listen to MCR. I am large, I contain multitudes.” As if on cue the song ends and the bassline of  _ The Sharpest Lives  _ starts to strain through Zuko’s tiny speakers. Some absurdly bold part of Zuko, bolstered by the look in Sokka’s eyes a minute ago, takes over. He rolls over onto Sokka and starts to sing along to the song, making grand hand gestures- the kind of dancing he usually only does when he’s alone, theatrical and therapeutic all in the same breath.

_ “'Cause I spent the night dancing, I'm drunk I suppose. If it looks like I'm laughing,” _ Zuko half-sings, half-monologues,  _ “I’m really just asking to leave this alone.” _

Sokka, underneath him, laughs something between amusement and surprise, and Zuko smirks, tripping over the next lyrics. 

_ “I've really been on a bender and it shows, so why don't you blow me,” _ Zuko sings, settling his chin on his hand and leaning just a little bit closer to Sokka. Sokka chokes, eyes wide, and rolls out from under Zuko.  _ “A kiss before she goes,”  _ Zuko finishes, bemused. His cells protest the loss of closeness and he takes a moment to figure out why Sokka moved. Once he does, he laughs. “Bud, it not about sex,” he assures him. “Not actually.”

Sokka flushes. “I didn’t-”

“I don’t even have a dick,” Zuko says. Why is he still talking. Why didn’t his mouth stop moving three sentences ago. Or even three minutes ago. Sokka’s eyes flicker subtly to the crotch of Zuko’s skinny jeans and Zuko’s blush finally takes up residency on his face. “It’s a packer,” he says. 

Sokka obviously doesn’t know what a packer is, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. “Oh,” he says. They sit in awkward silence for the rest of the song and Sokka groans, tossing an arm over his face. “I’m sorry I was so awkward. You should come back and lay on top of me again.”

_ THIS CANNOT BE STRAIGHT BOY THINGS _ _ TM _ _ ,  _ Zuko’s brain screams, but he obliges. They fall asleep like that, Zuko’s head on Sokka’s chest and his legs neatly slotted between Sokka’s, Rage Against the Machine screaming them to sleep. 

Zuko’s never been to Sokka’s house before. Once Sokka pulls up in front of it he recognises the building as one he’s biked past regularly but he’s never had the connection between the house and Sokka and he’s certainly never been inside. It’s a two story house with faded gray shingles and a bright yellow door. Weird plants in fancy pots line the sidewalk and there’s a small rainbow flag in the front window. 

Sokka bounces up onto the front porch, throws open the front door, and ushers Zuko, Aang, and Katara inside. Aang and Katara immediately peel off their jackets and toss their backpacks on the floor, racing up the staircase. Aang throws a “thanks for the ride, Sokka!” over his shoulder, and Katara shouts an agreement down the stairs. Sokka watches them go, a fond smile finding its place on his face. When Zuko looks around he finds a tall man with the exact same expression on his face watching Sokka.

“Hello,” he says, hating how his voice comes out shy. “I’m Zuko.”

The man turns his smile from Sokka to Zuko and it widens. His eyes catch for a moment on Zuko’s scar as Zuko prepares to get defensive, but the man’s gaze slides past to rest on Zuko’s other eye a moment later. “Ah, the boy my son has told me so much about! I’m Hakoda, but you can call me Dad.”

“I am going to… not do that,” Zuko says, and Sokka buries his face in his hands. “Thank you for letting me come over, Mr. Hakoda.”

Hakoda waves a hand. “Don’t mention it. You’re no trouble at all. You’ve certainly got more manners than Aang, and he’s here practically every day.”

“Dad-” Sokka tries to interrupt, but Hakoda ignores him.

“Oh?” Zuko toys with his pop tab wallet chain and feels mildly uncomfortable. He’s never been good at talking nicely with adults. Sokka shifts his weight from leg to leg, obviously impatient with the conversation.

“Okaydadthanksweneedtogo,” Sokka rushes, grabbing Zuko’s hand and dragging him upstairs. “Love you! Hope you and dad had a good day!”

“Love you too!” Hadoka calls after him. Sokka rolls his eyes and pulls Zuko into a room at the end of the hallway, slamming the door behind him. “Sorry, he’s so embarrassing.” He collapses back onto his bed and Zuko follows suit. It’s piled so high with throw blankets and thick comforters that Zuko half feels like he’s going to sink into all of the blankets and disappear. He squirms back a little and props himself up against the wall, shucking off his converse so that he doesn’t get dirt on the sheets. 

“No,” he assures Sokka, “I like him.”

Sokka laughs. “Yeah, whatever.” he rolls over onto his stomach and props up his head to face Zuko. “Hey, thanks for coming over.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Zoka says, already scrolling through his phone for something to listen to. “Music?”

“Neon Trees,” Sokka suggests, and Zuko presses play and tosses his phone onto a pillow a few feet away. Sokka closes his eyes and mimes playing the drums, rolling over so that his head is on Zuko’s lap. Zuko smiles a little bit at the transparent ploy to get closer, but he feels a pang at how much he wishes he could kiss him. Neither of them talks for a while, just Sokka doing a weird squirmy dance to  _ Love and Affection  _ and Zuko watching him more fondly than is really reasonable. 

Then Sokka opens his eyes, looks thoughtfully up at Zuko, and says, “so what do you think about dresses?”

The brief look of terror that passes Zuko’s face probably more than answers Sokka’s question. “On me or on other people?”

Sokka shrugs and reaches over to play with one of Zuko’s hands. To calm him down, Zuko deduces. “Either.”

Zuko hums. They forgot to turn on the lights when they came in, but the sunlight from the window by Sokka’s bed and the warm light from the fairy lights strewn about his room illuminate the pair perfectly well. “I wish I could be the kind of cool alt guy who wears dresses but I can’t get past my dysphoria. Alt subculture helped me get past some of the feeling that I have to perfectly conform to masculinity, but dresses aren’t something I’m okay with. They make me feel bad and then I get angry and I try…" he pauses. "I try to be discerning about what I let make me angry. Some things are worth my rage and some aren't. I think they look neat on other people, though.”

“What would you think about dresses on me?” Sokka asks hesitantly, and Zuko pauses. He needs the  _ right  _ answer. God, he wishes he was his uncle. Uncle Iroh always knew what to say when Zuko confided in him. Some ancient Japanese proverb that is somehow perfectly apt for whatever gender troubles Zuko was having that day.

“That’d be hot,” Zuko settles on, even though it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever said. It was the right thing to say. Sokka grins, then sighs.

“Suki and I dress up sometimes. She does my makeup and stuff and I lend her my formalwear and help her draw a mustache on her face with eyeliner and then we just lounge around her house for a while. Her parents aren’t usually home so nobody cares about two kids in drag.” He tangles his fingers between Zuko’s and Zuko imagines the pair- his closest friends, probably- watching TV and laughing together. He aches. “It’s fun.” Sokka hesitates. “I like how skirts feel. And eyeliner.”

“That’s cool,” Zuko says. He’s not quite sure what Sokka is trying to tell him. “Is this an ‘I’m a girl kind of confession?’” he asks, trying not to scare Sokka off from whatever he’s trying to say.

“Does it have to be?” Sokka asks. “I can be a guy and like makeup and stuff, right?” He sounds like he knows the answer and just wants to make sure Zuko doesn’t disagree. Which he doesn’t. Obviously.

“Yeah, obviously,” Zuko assures him. “I wear eyeliner every day.” And womens jeans, and earrings, and ponytail holders from Walgreens. Zuko’s never  _ really  _ going to pass, so he figures trying is just going to be annoying. Still, he doesn’t really know why they’re having this conversation. He doesn’t think anyone would reach the conclusion that  _ Zuko  _ would be weird about someone’s lack of gender conformity.

Sokka smiles over at Zuko and they hold eye contact for just a little bit longer than reasonable. “thanks,” he half-sighs, looking back up at the ceiling and dropping Zuko’s hand.

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[sokka, still sweaty and red from practice. he smiles lopsidedly at the camera.]**

**babeyyyy meet me up on that hill at the edgw of town in twenty i have something ot tell u**

**snapchat to: boomerangotters**

**[zuko, blushing again. he’s wearing a jasmine dragon apron and his hair is tied back even worse than usual. he looks stressed.]**

**can’t im working**

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[sokka, just out of the shower. his t-shirt is damp where it touches his skin and his hair isn’t tied up yet. he looks smug.]**

**not right now you aren’t. i just texted ur uncle and he says your shift is over right now. immediately. put down the teapot**

**snapchat to: boomerangotters**

**[zuko, exasperated. his work apron is gone.]**

**don’t DO that. i’ll be there tho**

**snapchat from: boomerangotters**

**[the steering wheel of sokka’s car, his keys in his hand.]**

**💖⭐❤️💕🌻🌈**

Sokka is lying in the tall grass when Zuko finds him. His hair and shirt are almost dry from the light wind blowing over the hill and his eyes are closed. Zuko marvels at how well he sits in the silence and how nicely he suits his environment. He looks like he could be a forest spirit, lost in the prairie. Or a sixteen year old boy who just finished football practice and is just remarkably beautiful.

Zuko doesn’t want to interrupt what looks to be a nap. He’d been late- the bus had left early, and biking had taken closer to 35 minutes than twenty, even without factoring in doing his hair and finding his missing combat boot. He stands in the corner of the field next to a tree for a few minutes before he gets bored and wanders over to sit down next to Sokka. They’re at the top of the hill, at the edge of a rock face. Zuko can almost see the whole city from where he is. He never comes up here- it’s a good spot for picnics, rich people who live at the top of the hill and the sort of people who like taking long walks along winding trails. Zuko doesn’t enjoy any of those things.

Sokka smiles when he hears Zuko approach. “You came!” He chimes.

“Yeah.” Zuko sits criss-cross-applesauce and leans back. The sky is just starting to turn the oranges and dark blues that come with sunset and there’s an airplane in the distance making its way across the sky. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Zuko’s been wondering since he got the snap from Sokka. What could be so important that he couldn’t have just told him then?

Silence, just the rustling of grass as Sokka sits up.

Zuko makes an inquisitive noise and looks over at Sokka, who’s… staring at Zuko’s mouth. Zuko flushes and furrows his brows. “Sokka?”

“Can I kiss you?” Sokka asks and Zuko suddenly has  _ so many questions,  _ but he doesn’t ask any of them. 

He just stares at Sokka, eyes wide, and says “uh,  _ yes, _ ” and then they’re kissing, just like that, Sokka bending at his waist to pressing his lips against Zuko’s and Zuko leaning forward, fumbling with where to put his hands. Their centers of gravity are just a little off and it’s only a moment before Zuko falls backwards. His hands, finally settled on Sokka’s back, drag the other boy down with him. It’s a strange parallel to the day in the park next to the supermarket except this time Zuko gets to reach up and secure his fingers between the strands of short hair on the back of Sokka’s neck and he gets to hum happily when Sokka grasps at the fabric on the back of his shirt to bring Zuko closer. 

The dying sunlight casts shadows over Sokka’s face and dapples warm light against Zuko’s back when he finally pulls away, face red and eyes bright. His lips are going to be swollen when he gets home, his nerves tell him, and Azula is going to be merciless in her teasing. 

Zuko doesn’t care.

“I thought you were  _ straight, _ ” Zuko says, his voice a little more accusing than he meant it to be. Sokka hand, previously caressing the place where Zuko’s scar meets his neck, is thrown up in exaggerated distress.

“You  _ what?”  _ Sokka shouts. He buries his face in his hands and Zuko sits up, still straddling the other boy’s hips, to give him space to be dramatic. “Zuko, what the hell. I’m literally the bi-est guy I know.”

“I…” Zuko realizes how dumb that idea was. “You play football,” he says lamely. “And you have the fashion sense of a nine year old who’s never seen a store that’s not Dick’s Sporting Goods.”

“Yeah, because I  _ play football.”  _ Sokka shakes his head and grabs one of Zuko’s hands. “My single earring is pushing it.”

“Well, I didn’t know!” Zuko protests.

“I told you that I regularly dress in drag. I have a pride flag in my room. My best friend is a lesbian! I’ve been  _ constantly  _ flirting with you since I met you, and you’ve been flirting back. I thought this was just the next logical step to our relationship.” Sokka looks like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh or bury his face in his hands again. 

Zuko thinks about what he said. On a certain level, Zuko knew that he, himself, was flirting with Sokka, but Sokka  _ flirting back?  _ “No you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was!” Sokka shakes his head and places both hands on Zuko’s hips. “I’m not having this conversation with you right now. Nope. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Okay,” Zuko says.

“Okay?” Sokka echoes.

“I mean, I trust you.” Zuko smiles and Sokka smiles bemusedly back up at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“You’re dumb,” Sokka says happily, and Zuko’s smile widens.

“As dumb as you,” he says. He tugs on Sokka’s sweatshirt strings and the other boy props himself up. “Can I kiss you again?” Zuko asks. Sokka doesn’t even bother answering. The sun finishes it’s slow descent before either of them bother properly pulling away from each other, and Zuko is perfectly fine with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- collapses on your front step, half dead from the stardew valley mines, with an 11k zukka high school au fic because that's the only thing i've done the past two days. write this and play sdv  
> \- this is just CHOCK FULL of my hcs. it's rly heavily implied in this that sokka is inuit and that's just what i deduced from watching the show? if anyone knows better pls tell me. also sokka is dyslexic and gnc and he has two dads and he's bi. and zuko is trans and emo and gay and would absolutely punch cops. i love how he sees authority he doesn't agree with and is like hmmmm i will call u out on this and then we will FIGHT to the DEATH. also i want to say he has primarily inattentive adhd but i'm on the fence. i wrote him as japanese because a tiny bit of research revealed that any "representation" in atla is confusing and badly done by white guys and the fire nation is like.. japan but actually china in a different era than the earth kingdom so i just picked one and went with it.  
> \- goddamn i had so many things i wanted to talk abt in this like! zuko's ANGRY and how he handles anger better than sadness because it's a traditionally masculine and sometimes ur like i must conform to gender expressions even when u know better and about what it's like for sokka being gnc and also on the football team and how he carried ibuprofen because he hates it when ppl he cares about are in pain and also more abt zuko's feelings abt what he deserves but i forgot all of it so u get this fluff  
> \- i see ur zukka is just klance and raise you: zukka is just wrightworth but younger. azula is franziska  
> \- i kinda want to write a followup to this about suki and sokka and zuko all getting dressed up together but it would have no actual content so i have to think abt it more  
> \- as always!! comments and kudos are wonderful and give me the validation i need while my girlfriend is on a backpacking trip ;) you can find me on tumblr [@lazypigeon](https://lazypigeon.tumblr.com/)  
> \- FINALLY!! LISTEN TO AGAINST ME!!!!! that's all thank u  
> \- edit!! i made a playlist of all the songs zuko listens to in this fic (both ones that r explicitly mentioned and ones that i didn't name like the ones he listens to at the football game, also rebel girl thrown in bc azula and a few other ones that r there simply for the vibes) so if you'd like to listen to that, that's [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6ixopegLtgYR4w6AGR5nfC?si=I8H590nESdOAza4LVnsTlQ)! it's the first playlist i've made for a fic of mine so pls go easy on me lol


End file.
